


Grab Your Hat and Fetch Your Camera (A Ryden Fanfic)

by harlequingirl93



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Brendon Urie - Freeform, M/M, Panic At The Disco (Band), Patd Fans, Ryan Ross - Freeform, Ryden, Rydon, patd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequingirl93/pseuds/harlequingirl93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan is a visual arts major at a New York University, and the only thing he cares about in life is finding beauty where others cannot. During an impromptu trip to Central Park, Ryan discovers a whole new kind of beauty. This beauty goes by the name of Brendon Urie. Ryan stays far enough away to admire but close enough to memorize every feature that's unique to Brendon. As if by fate, the eloquent beauty bumps into him at a party, and he gets more than he bargained for. Before long, a strong friendship, threatening to bud into more, forms between the two, but when Brendon comes back from a party Ryan didn't go to, He is completely shut off. Will the events of the party come between them, or will Ryan be able to fix the shattered parts of Brendon shard by shard?</p><p>"A memory in high resolution..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - I'm Just Takin' In The Scenery

Chapter One

It's just something that I do, something I have taken a liking to. It fits my introversion quite well I think. I watch people, but they don't watch me. They don't even see me, which is the way I like it. I adjust the shutter and then, snap, snap, snap. The camera takes a moment in time and freezes it so easily. It's true you can't put your arms around a memory, but you sure as hell won't forget it when it's right in front of you in high resolution.   
The cafe' I sit in isn't far from the University. You can tell by the type of people that come and go, mostly sorority girls. I never understood the big deal with those things anyway. So, you move into a house with a bunch of girls, or guys and...Oh, wait, I think I get it now. I wouldn't mind a house full of guys, provided they are attractive guys, which they all are at my University. I guess the rituals are what turn me off. I do my own thing. I'm not a follower, never have been and never will be.   
I sip on my coffee and enjoy the slight breeze. Fall is here in full force, and it's New York so the leaves are beginning to change. I focus on a big oak tree, and then snap, snap. There is nothing more beautiful than the golden foliage spread out amongst the plethora of trees, proof of summer letting go. I check my cell phone for the time. I'm supposed to be meeting a friend, but she's not here yet, and I'm wondering if she is going to flake on me again. It wouldn't be the first time. I decide to get lost in a newspaper article. I mean it's sitting in front of me. I might as well.  
"God, I'm so sorry I'm late baby," she says placing a sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek. Why did she have to be so over affectionate all the time? Don't get me wrong. I love her. I do, but she always slobbered on me. I wondered what the guys who actually kissed her thought. Was she a shitty kisser? Fuck, I'm being a dick. I laugh to myself. I can feel my smile spreading, my lips getting wider. No, Ryan. Stop.  
"What's so funny?" she asks me as she sits across from me hanging her purse over the back of the chair.  
I shake my head, "Nothing Z. I'm just mad you know that."  
She laughs, "Mad as a fucking hatter."  
"Thin as a dime," I wink at her referring to the tattoos on my wrists. One says: Mad as a hatter, the other says Thin as a dime. Okay, maybe I was a little harsh earlier. Z is my best friend. She can kiss me whenever she wants, but that's where I draw the line.   
I pick up my camera and begin to snap photos of her. I know she hates this, but I do it anyway. She's so beautiful that I can't help but let my camera make love to her form. Her hands eventually fly up in protest, and I know the camera is invading more of her personal space than she likes right now.   
"Ryan stop!" she laughs.  
I actually listen to her, which is abnormal for me, but today I didn't feel like arguing. I actually feel like a walk in the park. I want to clear my head. I'm not sure why. There is just a sense of urgency that pulls me to Central Park right at this very minute, and I have to listen to it because I'm nothing if I don't listen to my instincts.  
"Let's go to the park," I tell her.  
She whines, "Ryan," I hate it when she whines, "That's like eight blocks."  
I laugh, "So, are your legs broken?"  
"No," she retorts, "But-"  
"Good, then it's settled. We're going to the park," I hold out my hand for her to take it. She hesitates but eventually takes it as we begin to walk.  
Yes, the park is eight blocks but really that's not far by New York standards. We get there pretty quickly, and my breath hitches at the sight of the trees. The leaves are rich in colors, and there is no mistaking fall here. People in light jackets, jeans, light sweaters, and I can smell the dough from pretzel stand that's not far from where we are. I scan the park for a place to plant myself for a while, and then drag Z with me.  
I plop down on a patch of grass. Z tries to protest, and I can see why. Who the hell wears white pants anymore? I take off my jacket and lay it next to me. She smiles at me appreciatively then sits on it. I know she won't be able to stay quite, but that's all right. I pull my sketchpad out of my messenger bag and flip open to a fresh page. As soon as my hand touches the paper I'm drawing. Swift, long strokes across the page. My eyes concentrate on the scene, taking it in like it's a scent or like something I want to remember. I'm licking my bottom lip because it's something I do when I concentrate, and I'm definitely concentrating. I want to capture this scene as exact as I can. I can hear Z saying something about being a perfectionist. I suppose I am, maybe a little bit.   
When I'm done I show it to Z who has been pestering me for the last five minutes to look at it. Her mouth hangs open as she grabs the sketchpad out of my hand.  
"Fuck Ryan," she manages to say, "This is amazing, but -"  
"But what?" I was not in the mood for critiquing this morning.  
"Who's this?" she pointed to the person on the bench in the drawing.  
I immediately lift my head and turn it in that direction. They are still there, writing in a notepad. I think. I remember them, him. I drew him into the sketch because he looks so...I don't know, contemplative. It goes with the scenery. Now, though, I am curious about him. I grab my camera and point it in that direction. I zoom it in, and once it's focused, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap. I just want to remember the person who helped make my sketch more interesting, a memory in high resolution.   
While Z is gawking over the sketch I am reviewing the photos I just took. I don't say a word. No, Z would run too far with it. I want to keep this to myself. I look back in the direction of the boy whose photo I just took. What is his story? Who is he? Why the hell is my heart beating so damn fast?


	2. Chapter Two - The Conductor Is Beckoning

Chapter Two  
(Brendon's POV)

Campus activities are shit; just plain shit, and I do not take part in them. The only activities I take part in are those that take place in my dorm room, and believe me you don't want me to tell you about some of those, or the ones that take place in the common area. I might go to an occasional party or two if I like the person throwing it or if I just want to get fucked up and let someone take advantage of me. No, the fucked up part is right. I don't engage in the sexual part anymore. Not because I don't like sex, God no, I fucking love sex, but I have a boyfriend. He's kind of amazing. I met him through mutual friends a few months ago, been going strong ever since.  
I study music at the University of New York. It's the only thing I'm good at. Okay, I'm lying. I'm good at other things too, but music is the love of my life. It will always come first because it always was first. I married it a long time ago, maybe even before I was born. Yes, I think that it left an imprint on me while I was just a funny looking creature floating around in an amniotic sack. I play a lot of instruments, and I'm damn good, but if I had to pick my favorite I would say it's a tie. The piano and vocals are both equally important to me. I never really knew I had a good vocal range until I got to college. My professor asked me to sing, and when I did I think he nearly died. The school doesn't have a program for vocals, but my professor gives me lessons after classes for free because he tells me I have more potential than he's seen in a long time. In fact, I'm heading there right now.  
I walk into the big, round room that's filled with instruments to find Professor Barrett sitting at his desk. His head rests on his hand, his glasses on his nose, and he's mumbling something under his breath. I smile and let out a small laugh. He looks up.  
"Brendon," he smiles, "Come in, come in," he waves me inside.  
I oblige and step inside the room leaving the door open a crack. It always makes me feel more comfortable. I don't know why. It's not like Professor Barrett will ever be inappropriate with me. It's just for my own piece of mind I guess. Students have been attacked on campus before, and hey, I'm not going to pretend like I know how to fight because I don't. I've only ever been beaten up, not the other way around. I guess I was too busy with music to learn how to throw a proper punch. I probably should have listened to my brothers better, but that's another story.  
"I have a huge favor to ask of you," he says as he stands up. He looks desperate, and that can't be good.  
"What is it?" I ask throwing my backpack onto the piano bench.  
"Sadie can't play the concert next Friday night," he begins. I don't think I like where this is going, "and you know how I feel about Margret," he adds, "I need a first seat Brendon, please help me."  
I run a hand through my hair. He has no idea what he is asking.  
"Professor Barrett, it's the cello," I remind him, "I can play, yes, but I'm not as good as Margret, or Sadie for that matter."  
He puts his hand on my shoulder as if that is going to magically make me anointed or knighted in some way to play the fucking cello like a God.  
"You're a fast learner," he smiles, "I can teach you the pieces we plan to play very quickly, please Brendon."  
He's begging, and I also feel indebted because he is guiding my voice and me for free three times a week. I exhale deeply and try not to let my shoulders fall forward, a sure sign I'm defeated.   
"Okay," I tell him, "If you need me, then I'll do it." I manage to smile as he pats my shoulder and crosses the room to grab the cello.  
What the hell did I just agree to? The cello is a beautiful instrument. It makes beautiful sounds but not always when I play it. I sit in a chair and hold it between my legs, the bow in my hand. I can think of so many things I'd rather have positioned between my legs right now, among them is not the cello. Okay Brendon, shake it off. You can do this. I shake my shoulders and place the bow on the strings and my other hand on the neck. I begin to play. The vibration against my fingers is stronger than I remember, but it feels good. The music is sad and longing. I close my eyes and get lost in its tranquility. I hope no one ever finds me, but they do.  
Professor Barrett puts his hand on my shoulder, and I stop. My tranquility is gone and now the real world is back, harsh and bright. He looks at me, approval in his eyes, and I know I've done well. It was only my first try too. I run my fingers down the dark wood of the instrument and tell myself that she and I are going to get reacquainted. After hearing those notes, feeling those vibrations, I don't hate the cello anymore. In fact, I can't wait to immerse myself in her.   
Professor Barrett starts to talk about the concert, but my attention is drawn to the door of the classroom. I think, is someone out there? I squint to try to see better, but I can't make anything out.  
"Here you go Brendon," Professor Barrett breaks me of my determination to figure out what's going on as he hands me sheet music, "This should help you study, and you and I will practice in here."  
I nod at him, and then immediately turn my head toward the door again as I hear the squeak of a shoe. I only catch a glimpse, but there is a shadow, a distinct shadow illuminating off of the door and onto the floor of the hallway. Someone is watching us, but who and why? I hand the cello to Professor Barrett and get up from my seat. I walk toward the door, but when I get there the hallway is empty. I listen carefully, and sure enough, I can hear it. The sound of sneakers on the floor not far away. Someone was definitely watching me. What in the actual fuck?


	3. Chapter Three - You're Such A Pretty Thing

Chapter Three

I wasn't proud of myself, but I wasn't ashamed either. I saw something that I deem beautiful, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let it out of my sight. At least this is what I tell myself as I sit on a bench near the University. He sits on the lawn across from me. He's with a few friends, and I can hear his laughter. It echoes through the air as he throws his head back, his smile exposing a perfect set of white teeth. If one could be in love with a smile I'd be in love with his.  
I know that creeping on him last week when he was in the music room was not the best idea but ever since that day in the park a few weeks ago I can't get him out of my head. He has this effect over me that I can't explain. He makes me do stupid things, things I wouldn't normally do. I wonder how one person can make me feel so ridiculously insane?  
I'm sketching in my pad, and when I look back up to see if the scene I'm drawing has changed I see him talking to someone. He's standing, and the smile is gone from his face as he pulls the other guy away from the crowd. I have no idea what they are saying. It doesn't look good though. My eyes dart from my sketchpad to them then back to my sketchpad again. I'm trying not to be obvious. I'm probably not doing a very good job. I think it's the hat. Z keeps telling me I'm so indie or hipster or something like that. I roll my eyes when she says this. I'm not concerned with labels. I just do what I want, and if that makes me indie or hipster then oh fucking well.  
My head shoots up and in their direction as I hear raised voices. What is that Neanderthal doing to my beauty? Clearly he's upsetting him. I can feel my blood pressure rising, but I have to remind myself this guy doesn't know who I am. I don't even know his name, and he doesn't know I exist. I watch my beautiful one shove the other guy. He's crying as he walks by me so swiftly that he wouldn't notice me if I were the President of the United States. All I want to do is go after him, comfort him, and all I want to do is beat the hell out of the other guy. Obviously they were dating. At least I think so. The sad part about it is, I can't go to him. I feel a twinge of pain in my chest, and I know it's my heart yearning for more of what I can't have. I silently tell it to be quiet, that it will live, and we do.  
When I get back to the apartment Z is prancing around in her robe still. It's silk and far, far too short. It has no affect on me. It used to, when we were younger, before I figured out who I am. I'm really lucky that she's stuck with me as a friend even after what I put her through. I think dating someone all through middle and high school only to find out they are gay is pretty fucked up. I have to hand it to her. She handled it well, almost too well but that's Z.  
"Hey," she mumbles through a mouthful of strawberries, "I thought you had an art class?" she asks offering me some. I shake my head.  
"I do," I tell her, "but it's not until later. Besides," I laugh a little, "we have to draw a naked person. I'm so thrilled to do that."  
Z snorts, "A naked person?" she repeats my words, "Since when do they do that?"  
I open the refrigerator and lean inside, "Since always," I tell her.  
She hops up on the kitchen counter as I close the refrigerator door. The look on her face tells me that she has something on her mind.  
"Everything ok Z?" I ask gently.  
"Yeah, I guess so," she plays with the strawberries in the bowl avoiding her true feelings.  
"Z?" I coax her holding out the pronunciation of the letter.  
She huffs, "My Mother."  
That's all she has to say before my arms are around her, "I told you to stop listening to her bullshit."  
"I know," she sighs, "But she's so good at making me feel bad. You'd think she was Jewish."  
I laugh pretty hard at that one. Z is not racist or anything close to that, but that was funny.  
"You still stalking that guy?" and I know she's joking because the smirk on her face is terribly evil.  
"I'm not stalking anyone," I remind her, "I'm simply admiring from afar."  
"Yeah, yeah," she gets down from the counter, "Why don't you just talk to him?"  
I laugh at this, "And say what? Hi I'm Ryan, and I've been watching you for the past month?"  
She slaps my arm. What? It's true, isn't it? Suddenly I do feel like a stalker. I really need to stop following him. It is becoming an addiction, and I don't handle those well, neither did my father. He'd tell you that, but he's six feet under, sleeping forever, a victim of his alcohol addiction.  
I kiss Z on the cheek and tell her I'm going to be late. I hurriedly leave the apartment and head to the University. I love anything visual. If I can find a way to make it beautiful I will. Art class is my favorite. I get to completely lose myself for two hours. What is better than that? Well, sex probably, but I'm not going to go there right now or I'll never get back out. Especially not with the thoughts I've been having lately. I pull open the door to the building the Art room is in, spin on my heels and head down the hall.  
I reach the room before class starts, which is great. I hate being late for anything. It drives me madder than I already am. I set up my easel and pull out my paints, organizing them the way I like. My friend Charlie sits down next to me. She's quite wonderful at this. I actually bought a painting off of her. It's now hanging in my apartment. She's going places that one. I can't wait to see what she does. We exchange a few words about our days then laugh about the fact that we have to draw a naked model.  
"I heard it's a guy," Charlie informs me.  
My ears perk up to this. She informed me on purpose.  
"Oh?" I ask with a Cheshire grin.  
She says nothing and goes back to organizing her paintbrushes.  
The Professor walks into the room and makes small announcements, and all I'm thinking of is the curve my paint brush makes when...  
My thought process is cut off because there he is, standing behind my Professor in a white robe. Are you fucking kidding me? He is the model? My heart picks up it's pace, and I can feel the heat rise in my body. He doesn't know me, but I sure as hell am familiar with him. He looks sad. His eyes are far away even though his body is here with us. He doesn't want to be here. Not because He's shy, no he's not shy, I can tell. It's because of something else. Then, I remember. The altercation with the other boy earlier, yes that's what this is about. The way his lips sink downward in the corners, his shoulders slumping. They were definitely dating. What a fucking moron. If he were mine I would never let him go.


	4. Chapter Four - A Wonderful Caricature Of Intimacy

Chapter Four  
(Brendon's POV)

All I want to do is forget everything, forget Shane, and forget about the concert on Friday. Fuck! What a cock sucker, literally, but seriously. I've been a good fucking boyfriend, and what do I get for it? Fucking dumped that's what. I fall onto my bed wishing I were somewhere else. My friends laugh in the hall, and I want to join them. I should be out there laughing with them, but I can't. There is nothing to laugh about.  
A gentle knock on my dorm room door makes me turn my head. It's Spencer; he's a close friend. Checking on me is not something he needs to do, but he does it anyway because he knows that I take breakups hard. Especially this one, this one was massive. Shane and I dated for three years, and he didn't even have the courtesy to break it off properly. He said he met someone, said that he didn't love me anymore and hadn't for a long time. I'm pretty sure my heart spontaneously combusted right then and there. My chest feels cold, the cavity where my heart used to be hollow. I am a goner. No way back, not from this.  
"You ok Bren?" Spencer asks me sitting on the bottom of my bed.  
My raw lips don't want to move, but I force them, "Yeah," is all I manage to get out.  
He pats my leg, "If you need anything-"  
"I know Spence. I appreciate that," I cut him off to thank him but really I just want him to go.  
"Alright, well," he gets up from the bed, "I'm going out with a friend tonight, but I think we're coming back here later if you wanna hang?"  
My first instinct is to say yes, my body wants to jerk up off the bed with excitement and agree to it. On the other hand, my empty chest cavity wants to wallow in self-pity.   
"Maybe," I mumble chewing on my bottom lip.  
He gives me a smile as he leaves my room, leaving the door open just a crack. I push off the bed with my hands, cross the room, and pick up my guitar. As I start strumming the saddest tone comes out of my singing voice. 

But who could love me I am out of my mind  
Throwing a line out to sea  
To see if I can catch a dream

The realization hits me half way through the song. This must be what it sounds like to fall from grace, to completely strip yourself down to nothing, naked, shedding your skin in front of every one, but what happens now?  
There's another knock at my door. I roll my eyes.  
"Come in," I tell them. It's Sarah. Well, okay, I suppose this is acceptable.  
She peaks around the doorframe slowly, "Hey," her voice is soft and sweet, "Can I come in?"  
"Of course you can, don't be ridiculous," I wave her inside.  
Her step is slow and steady, and I laugh to myself because I know she is walking on proverbial eggshells. Once she reaches the bed, she stands in front of me, and then wraps her arms around me. I've never been happier to feel someone's touch. Sarah and I have been good friends since I got to the University. She was there when Shane and I met, and she's here now when we've broken up. Counting on her was a constant because she was always there.  
"You're better off B," she tells me as she wipes away a tear I didn't even know I had, "He always treated you like shit. You just never saw it."  
"I know," I sniff, and she's right. Why the hell am I crying? That rat bastard doesn't deserve my tears.  
"You'll find someone else," she smiles rubbing my cheek, "Someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated, someone who worships the very ground you walk on."  
I laugh, "Now you're pushing it."  
"Got you to laugh didn't I?"  
"Touché," I smile, and it feels good to do it.   
She slaps my knee, "Now come on, there's a video game comp in the common room. I know how you love to win," she says with a sly grin.  
My grin matches hers, "I do love to win."  
"Well, then I suppose you'd better show this hall a thing or two."  
She disappears. I'm left with my thoughts again, but a gaming comp sounds like just right kind of medicine for my disease. I hop up from my bed and head down to the common room.  
When I get there I hear shouting and arguing and yup it's a gaming comp. Smiling, I walk further into the room and stand behind the couch watching the guys in front of me playing a heated game of Super Smash Bros. I bite my lip as my head moves back and forth with the players on the screen. God, this game is so brutal but so fucking fun. Pikachu is ridiculous and should be illegal to use, and I'm not even sure that Link does anything even though he's a bad ass in the Zelda games. The game ends with some fuck you's and a couple suck my cocks. Yeah, it sounds like a typical game night in my dorm. I feel a pat to my shoulder.  
"Brendon!" My buddy Zack looks happy to see me out of my room, "Happy you could join us."  
I manage a smile, "Yeah, I figure sitting in my room isn't gonna do me any good."  
"Nope, and you know," he leans in close to me, "The only way to get over someone is to get under someone else."  
I push him playfully, "God Zack, you're such a pig."  
The couch sucks my form into it as my ass meets the cushion. I grab a controller off of the coffee table and dare someone to challenge me. The title of ongoing champion in this place belongs to me. I had no plans of changing that tonight. My tongue darts out to lick my upper lip as I raise one of my eyebrows. Most of the people in dorm wouldn't want to play with me, but I had a couple that just couldn't resist it. They take their seats and their controllers. It's game on.  
The game sucks us in, hours have gone by, and it's early or late depending on how you look at it. I hear Spencer's voice once the front door closes, but he's not alone because there is another male voice with him. I glance in the direction of Spencer and whoever it is he brought with him, must be the friend he was talking about earlier. In any case, I catch a glimpse of him just for a second. Our eyes meet, but I don't break my game face. He looks away quickly, too quickly. He's got this bohemian vibe about him, and I suppose he's a little cute from what I can tell. I don't think I've seen him before. Normally, this is the part where I stand up and begin to peacock, anything to get the attention on me. Tonight, however, I just want to keep my mind lost in the wonderful world of Nintendo, a world where nothing is real because nothing hurts when no one's real.


	5. Chapter Five - Who Could Love Me I Am Out Of My Mind

Chapter Five

The lobby is beginning to crowd, and I feel like an ass in the suit I chose to wear. What was I thinking coming here? My nervousness is apparent as I roll the program around in my hands, then flatten it back out again. Z is supposed to meet me here. She promised. If she flakes on me tonight of all nights I'll kill her. I won't really, but I'll want to. I look down at the program. It's yellow parchment paper with the school's logo on it, and below the logo it reads: University of New York Symphony Orchestra's Season Opening's Ball Concert, 8pm. Running my thumb down the outside of the page, I flip it open. I've looked at it already, but I need to see it again. My eyes find what they are looking for: First Seat Cello: Brendon Urie. His name is Brendon Urie.  
In that exact moment Z throws her arms around me apologizing profusely for being so late. She looks amazing in her little black number and her faux fur jacket. She wipes the red lipstick off of my face. You would think by now she'd learn it always smears. That stay put stuff is a lie, a dirty fucking lie. We walk into the pristine auditorium and find our seats. We're close to the front, which I like. There is nothing more intimate than watching someone play an instrument, and I want to see this, want to see it up close, want to feel it in my veins. The lights dim just as I'm having this thought process. I try to relax in my chair. A balding man in a black suit walks onto the stage and introduces the Orchestra, and then the curtain opens.  
I fail to breathe. Staring at the stage, they are all dressed the same, black suits with white dress shirts and matching black ties. The girls wear skirts instead of slacks and a sweater vest instead of a tie. The lighting that's cast on the stage only illuminates the floor but it's enough to make them all out. Without warning, it happens. The stage lights flood the Orchestra just as they hit their first notes. My hands grip the handles of my seat. The sound is so intense, so passionate, so moving, so much. I watch his face. His brows furrow, his eyes are closed, and his mouth is hanging open moving with the strokes he makes with the bow. They are hungry strokes. He's lost in the music, and I am lost in him. God, he's so fucking beautiful. He bites his bottom lip as the bow moves faster across the strings and his other hand wraps around the neck, his fingers fervently guiding the right chords. His head is tensing up now, but it also moves with the music. It's almost like he's fucking...shit, he is fucking the instrument. Not literally, but watching him, the sweat beginning to collect on his forehead, the passion in his face, the concentration, fuck, I wish it were me he was playing.  
When the concert is over I'm still gripping the handles on my seat. I feel like I've been brought to the brink, then brought down again, only to be brought up again and then released. I realize that he may have been fucking his instrument, but he used its output to fuck me, and he fucked me good. I can hear Z talking, but I don't know what she's saying. I am in so much trouble. How did I get in this deep? He doesn't even know I exist. God Ryan, you're so stupid! I feel Z shake me.  
"Huh?" I look at her confused.  
"Where the hell are you?" she laughs.  
I shrug it off, "I'm right here."  
"Yeah okay," she smirks, "The show's over, let's go," she says, "Unless you wanna stick around. See if maybe your boyfriend will sign an autograph or something," she laughs.  
I smack her playfully, "He's not my boyfriend."  
We get up from our seats and begin to walk out with the crowd of people.  
"Yeah," she smacks my arm with her program, "but you wish he was."  
I snort.  
"Why don't you just-"  
"Talk to him, I know," I finish her thought, "Z it's not that easy for me, and you know it," I shove my hands into my jacket pockets.  
She looks at me with this face. I know it well. It's the pity face, and I hate it. She's always been far more outgoing than me. I'm the wallflower, the introverted, yet aware wallflower. I can't just walk up to a guy and start talking, not unless I've had quite a bit to drink, and tonight is not one of those nights. Besides, what would I say to him? Lost in my thought process, I don't even feel Z nudging me with her elbow. Finally, she does it rather hard, and that gets my attention.  
"Ow," I rub my side, "What the hell?" I look at her expecting an explanation.  
She lowers her voice and leans in closer to me, "Nine O' Clock," is all she says.  
"What do you mea-" I don't even finish the sentence because it's right then that I see him. He's smiling and shaking hands with people I don't know. The spark is back in his eyes, and I'm assuming the music put it there. I hope that's what it is. His hair lies perfectly. It's straight, dark brown, and slightly shaggy. Fuck, I have it really bad. I shouldn't be so in love with someone's looks, then again is it just his looks? No, there is something about him, something I want to know more about. I keep finding myself around him that has to mean something. I run a hand through my wavy locks. I turn to Z, but she's looking in his direction.  
"Don't look now, but Mr. Shaggy hair and doe eyes is looking directly at you," she has a hint of laughter in her voice. Is he really looking at me? I want to look, but I know I can't. Why is he looking at me? I'm no one, and he's someone.  
"Let's just go Z," I tell her wrapping my fingers around her arm, "I don't want to do this," I pull her gently, but she's not moving.  
"Ryan," she protests, "You're being a baby," at least she's honest.  
"Now come on," she tells me, "I'll talk first," she offers.  
"No," I tell her my voice rising a bit. Not the smartest move since I am trying to go unnoticed, "I told you," I lower my voice, "I'm not ready."  
She exhales a heavy sigh, "You'll never be ready with that attitude Ryan."  
When we get back to the apartment I know she's pissed off at me. I don't know what she wants me to do. This is who I've always been. She knows that. What should it matter whether he looked at me or not? He looked at a lot of people tonight. It doesn't mean anything. I swear if I could be a girl for one day I would show them just what kind of hell they put us men through. It's exhausting. I don't even know what to say to her because I really don't feel like an argument right now. I feel like a beer, a nice jack off session, and then sleep. Is that too much to ask for? I suppose it is, especially for me. Why should I get anything that I want? I never have. My old man was very clear that I would be a fuck up. I guess I'm proving him right.  
"And stop that," Z scolds me with her index finger pointing in my face.  
"What?" I ask taking a sip of my beer.  
"Stop thinking about your father," she warns. How the fuck did she know?  
"He has nothing to do with this or you being shy," she reminds, "That's all on you Ryan," she continues, "If you don't like something about yourself, then change it."  
It's so easy to say things like that. She's right though. He will never be mine if I don't do something about it. God, I really don't want to. I want him though. Fuck, this is unfair. Why can't I ever be the one who gets hit on? I'm always stuck being the drunken guy who drags a boy home, fucks him, and then kicks him out. Brendon is used to a relationship, could I even give that to him? Would he even want it from me? Too much thinking, way too much thinking, I finish my beer and then sit the empty bottle down on the counter.  
"I'm goin' to bed Z," I tell her as I kiss her cheek, "Good night."  
"Good night Ryan," she replies, "And hey," she stops me before I hit the hallway, "You're a good guy, and you have a lot to offer. Never forget that."  
I manage a smile, "Okay Z," I half agree, "I won't." but I'm lying. I will forget. I will close my eyes tonight thinking of him, and when I wake up in the morning I'll remember that I'm not good enough. I wasn't good enough for my father, and I'm not good enough for him.


	6. Chapter Six - Camisado

Chapter Six  
(Brendon's POV)

What I like most about this time of year is not the weeklong break we get, it's the parties before the weeklong break. It just so happens that I know of a hot party going on tonight. Sarah has a friend at Alpha Delta Pi, the sorority a few blocks from here. I guess Sarah's been friend's with this chick a long time because she told her to invite the entire dorm. I am ecstatic! This is just what I need. It's been two months since Shane broke up with me and I'm horny as fuck. I probably have the masturbation record in my dorm by now. I need to get laid, and maybe I need pussy for once. Maybe it will be less hassle, and so much won't be expected of me. Then again, they're sorority girls. Is it wrong of me to think about getting someone drunk? I laugh and shake my head. That's stupid. I'm not that desperate.  
Sarah taps her foot next to me a sure sign that she's ready to go. I smooth out my hair one last time and give the lapels of my tan, corduroy blazer a tug. I contemplate changing the yellow shirt I have on underneath, but I like it so I don't. She grabs my arm and pulls me, my black converse squeak on the floor in the hallway. We're not driving because the house is within walking distance, and I am planning on getting sufficiently trashed. I don't know about Sarah. Spencer told me he is making an appearance later with a friend. I don't really care who he brings as long as he comes and hangs out. Sometimes I think he takes life too seriously. He doesn't stop to appreciate the small things.  
I'm broken of my thoughts when I hear the thud of a bass, then it hits my feet and vibrates my whole body. The house is big, a little garish, but big. There are people everywhere, and I know I've made the right choice coming tonight. I'm definitely getting laid here. Sarah and I walk inside, and I immediately bee line it for the alcohol. It's in the kitchen along with the other thing I am looking for, hot, dumb sorority girls. I know I sound shallow, but I'm not I swear. I'm the nicest guy, but it's killing me, and I'll die if I don't get it soon. Okay, so I won't die, but I'll be hurting severely.  
One of the girls, the brunette, hands me a beer. I take it from her and flash my winning smile. She blushes. I'm in. I link arms with her, and we walk off. We're not talking about anything really, just stupid shallow shit. How's school? Are you excited to see your family? That's one I never want to answer. My family is a fucked up situation. I don't like to talk about it. Wow, she talks a lot. Hm, I could probably shut her up if I really wanted to.  
"Hey," I say in an almost whisper, "Why don't you go get us a couple more beers?"  
"Alright," she agrees with a giggle. Oh yeah, I've got this one in the bag. My eyes follow her as she walks away. God, what a nice fucking ass. As my eyes come back up to room level, I let them roam around. I don't see Spencer yet. I hope he doesn't bail.  
She comes back quickly with our drinks and hands me mine. I take it from her making sure my fingers brush over hers. She blushes again, the smile permanently intact on her face. She leans against the wall by the stairs. We drink our beers, and I'm doing my damnedest to be charming. I think she's buying it. I go in for the kiss, she's ready for it, and I'm ready for it. My lips never make it to hers. An arm curls around my neck pulling me backward. Hot breath creeps down my neck and it's not friendly.  
"So," the male voice says. I know that voice. I know it all too well. Shane.  
"You're going for the pussy now huh?" He asks, and I know he's mocking me in some way.  
"I've always been into it Shane," I remind him, "I just wasted three years on your dumb ass."  
His hold on my throat gets tighter. I don't like where this is going.  
"Yeah, that's right, what's the word again?" He asks in a condescending tone, "Bisexual," I can feel him smile on my cheek, and I just want to get away from him.  
"Let's see if that's true," I feel his hand run down my chest.  
"What are you doing asshole, get off of me!" I struggle to break free, but his grip is too tight. He always was bigger than me.  
"I wanna see if little miss sorority girl over here is getting you hard," he breathes in my ear, and then I feel his fingertips slip under my jeans. I close my eyes and wait for it to happen.  
"Let him go," a male voice commands. I don't recognize it though, but it's enough to stop Shane. He releases his grip on me; my hands immediately fly to my neck rubbing it as I cough.  
"Who the fuck are you?" Shane barks.  
"A big fucking problem for you if you don't back off," the guy warns, and I can't help but think I've seen him before.  
Shane laughs, "You?" He laughs harder, "And just what do you think you're going to do?"  
The guy gives him a slick smile, "I've already done it," he tells him, and Shane looks confused, I sort of am too.  
"What are you even talking about?" Shane makes a circular motion around his temple to indicate the guy is crazy, "You haven't done anything."  
"You let him go didn't you?" The guy folds his arms with a smirk, and I almost laugh. He's right. He did make him let me go but why?  
Shane looks around the room, a crowd has formed now and the last comment has made him look like an idiot. He's pissed I can tell. His face is a little red, and he's balling fists. Before I can even warn the guy, Shane swings and comes into contact with the guy's face knocking him to the floor. I cringe. Shane gets another hit in before another guy breaks it up and he's asked to leave.  
I don't know this guy, but I have an obligation to go to him, no, I want to go to him. As he is trying to get up I am crouching down grabbing his arm, hooking mine with his.  
"Are you stupid?" I laugh a little.  
"Eh," he moans, "It's debatable."  
"Come on," I tell him, "Let me help you fix your face," I begin to walk to the front door with him. He turns to look back at the party, or maybe the house I'm not sure.  
"They have a bathroom here," he smiles at me.  
I snort, "I know, I just don't want to be here anymore," I'm being honest with him, "The dorm isn't far, my dorm I mean."  
He nods as we walk together, side-by-side, keeping the same stride.  
"I'm Brendon by the way," I introduce myself.  
He looks at me like he knew that already, then introduces himself.  
"Ryan."  
Then it hits me. I remember where I know him from!  
"You're Spencer's friend right?"  
"What?" He asks. I think he is surprised I asked him that.  
"Yeah you came in with him once," I tell him, "Into the dorms," I finish that thought then start another, "You were also at the Symphony concert with a girl, she was blonde."  
"God, you have a good memory," the statement cuts a little, and I don't know why. Maybe he's embarrassed about something? I can't read him and it's frustrating as hell.  
We get to the dorms, and I take him upstairs to the bathroom in my hall. He sits on the counter where the sinks are. When I assess the damage it's not as bad as it could have been. He has a cut over his eyebrow, and his eye is turning purple quick. His lip is busted open, and I'm sure it hurts like hell. I grab the first aid kit and pull out what I need.  
"Why did you stop him?" I ask while I clean the cut on his eyebrow with an alcohol wipe, "I mean, you don't even know me," I pull out a new one and clean his lip. He winces a bit and pulls back. I grab his chin gently and pull it back toward me.  
"He was harassing you," he tells me, "No one deserves that."  
"True," I shrug. I apply a topical aid to both cuts and smile, "Now, try to stay out of trouble."  
He laughs as he shoves himself off of the counter, "I'll try."  
"Hey Ryan," my voice is soft, "Thank you."  
"Don't mention it," he tells me as he heads for the door.  
"Ryan," I stop him, and I don't know why. I just know I can't leave it like this. So...unfinished.  
He turns to look at me.  
"Do you like video games?"  
He smiles, "Yeah," is his first response, "Yeah I love them."


	7. Chapter Seven - I Want You To Catch Me Like A Cold

Chapter Seven

The subway I usually take zooms passed me as I step through the gate to board it. Late again. I curse Z under my breath for taking yet another one of her infamously long showers. This is getting to be a habit with her and it's making me reconsider my living arrangements. I sigh as I walk back up the stairs and finally out onto the street, hailing the first cab I see.  
My family was well off. My mother left when I was young. That opened the door for my father to drink and never stop. On top of his incessant drinking habits, he also had a nasty habit of smacking me around. At least until he realized that I wasn't going to stick around for our "bonding" sessions anymore. So, with not much money in my pocket, and my dignity barely intact, I left the house. I stayed with some friends for a while before getting a job and trying to move out on my own. Z begged me to change my mind, told me I was crazy, that I would never make it. Little did she know how motivated I was to be my own person, live my own life, and get the fuck away from anything to do with my father.  
A friend of mine needed a roommate, lucky enough for me, and I moved in with him while I saved up money. I should have been going to college like everyone else who had graduated, but I couldn't. Then, things changed. My father began to call me out of the blue, leaving these long drawn out messages about how much he loved me and how sorry he was. I may be many things, but stupid is not one of them, something was wrong. It wasn't long after that I found out he had liver cancer and it was advanced. He died a few months later. Z asked me once if I ever regret not making things right with him. Well, sometimes I do, but mostly? I'm relieved that he's gone. It may make me sound cold, or unsympathetic or just downright brutally fucked up, but until someone's been in my shoes they can't possibly know how bad it hurt to go through what I went through.  
He left me a lot of money. I really didn't want it, but when I gave myself time to mourn and thought about it some more I told myself how stupid it would be to turn it down. I wanted to go to college, the money was my opportunity. So, I accepted the terms of the Will. Now, I have the apartment and the education. I try not to let the money change me, and so far it hasn't. I won't let him have a negative affect on my life again.  
The morning traffic in New York is bumper to bumper but what's new? I love this city, but sometimes it's insufferable. The yellow cab finally stops at my destination. I hand him some money, and I get out, throwing my backpack over my shoulder. I hurry into the main building to start my morning classes. I'm hoping the whole day is not in a rush like this. I hate that.  
To my surprise though, the morning goes quite smoothly. After classes I feel refreshed, ready to hang out alone in the cafeteria. The winter weather has already moved in, so going outside is not an option anymore. When I get to the cafeteria it's only half full so I take a seat near the window in the back. I pull out my sketchpad and begin to draw a winter scene, the one that's outside the window I'm currently gazing out of. It's not the most beautiful thing I've ever seen but it could be.   
"So," I hear a male voice say, then I hear a crisp snap, teeth are tearing through an apple, "Come here often?"  
I know who it is before I even look up. The smile that paints on my face is genuine, and when I look up at him I'm happy, really happy, "I do actually."  
"Huh," Brendon replies chewing more of his apple with a sly look on his face. He sits down across from me letting his backpack fall onto the table.  
"I don't think I've ever seen you here before."  
I laugh, "Maybe you weren't looking hard enough," and I can't believe I'm actually flirting with this guy.  
Brendon's eyes rise up to meet mine. A spark ignites behind them as if I've given him some kind of permission for something.   
"Maybe," the corner of his lips curl up then he plays with a flap of skin hanging off of his apple, "So," he's swinging his feet under the table. Really? Is he five?   
"You busy tonight?" Oh fuck, did he just?  
He shrugs his shoulders, "Cause if not, I mean we're gonna have a Smash Bros. comp," he tells me, "You can come," he's still kicking his legs, "You know, if you wanna."  
Part of me is shocked that he's asking, but the other part of me is saying that I knew this would happen. Keeping my cool, I sit up in my chair and tap my pencil to my forehead.  
"Hm, well," I'm making him work for it, and he should, but I won't make him work that hard.  
"If you don't want to you don't-"  
"Sure, why the hell not," I blurt. His eyes get wide; you would think I just told him Santa Clause really is real. His smile quickly turned into a grin.   
"Really? So you want to come?"  
If I didn't answer him with a "yes" again just to confirm it, I'm afraid he might explode. So I do.  
"Yeah, I'll come," I smile.  
Suddenly, he's aware of how much he's putting off, and he pulls back.  
"Oh, well, good then," his tone evens out with the rest of his features, "We usually start around nine."  
I nod at him, thinking he's going to leave, but he sits through the rest of his apple with me not saying a word. He looks at me often. I think he's trying to figure me out, just as I am trying to figure him out. I am thankful when it's time to get to afternoon classes.  
I have to stop by the dark room in my photography class to check my photos before I head to my art class. In the red tinted light of the dark room I examine the photos I've taken over the past couple of weeks. Right there, in the middle, is a photo of Brendon. He's laughing in a circle of people, and I realize I took it the day he and Shane broke up. I quickly take all of my photos down and tuck them away in a folder as I head to art.   
I step into the room and everyone has begun to set up. I follow suite and gather my things. As I walk to the back of the room to grab some new paintbrushes I bump into someone.  
"Shit, I'm sor-" I stop when I realize I'm staring right at Brendon. He's smirking, "Brendon," I say, "I forgot you were, I mean, yeah."  
Brendon laughs and pats my shoulder, "It's okay Ross," he tells me. Hey, I didn't tell him my last name.  
"Bumping into someone is not a crime last time I checked," he's still laughing.  
"Yeah, I know," Agreeing with him just makes me sound stupid, then it dawns on me that he's been the model I've been drawing for the past couple of weeks. Shit, he's going to get naked, and we know each other now. Fuck!   
"If this is going to be weird for you I can just leave," I offer.  
"What?" Brendon asks fiddling with the robe he's wearing. It hits him a second later.  
"Oh, you mean me getting naked now that I know you?"  
I nod and swallow a lump in my throat hoping he doesn't notice.  
"Ryan, it's not a big deal. I love being naked. It's our natural form," he smiles slyly, "Besides, I have nothing to be embarrassed about," he walks ahead of me, but then looks back, "Do you?"


	8. Chapter Eight - Give Me Envy, Give Me Malice, Give Me Your Attention

Chapter Eight  
(Brendon's POV)

There was a time in my life where nothing I did was right. I couldn't get the girl because I was too nerdy. I wasn't sure if I wanted the boys, but I tried anyway. School failed to interest me. My grades were mediocre at best, which did not please my parents. At the age of thirteen I realized that our Mormon background, the church, the rules, the belief system, well, it wasn't me. I didn't believe in any of it. When I informed my parents I was leaving the church they flipped out. You would have thought I'd caused WWIII. Luckily, they didn't kick me out, which happened to some families, we just didn't speak.   
Thirteen was a big year for me because I also lost my virginity. It was to a girl named Becky. Out for a leisurely bike ride, we stopped by this old creek up in the woods behind our neighborhood. I had no idea what she was doing at first, and then she kissed me. It didn't take long for us to wonder what the rest would feel like. So, like teenagers do, we found out, together. I probably lasted all of about two seconds, but she seemed like she liked it. I never asked her though. In fact, we never talked again after that. This brings me to a few months later and a girl named Maureen, she blew my mind. The things she could do with her mouth, God I never knew those kinds of things were possible. To say she was experienced would be an understatement, but she taught me a few tricks I still use today so I wasn't complaining.  
When I turned fourteen, I started to question some things; one of those things was my sexuality. It wasn't so much that I didn't like girls. I loved girls, but the Mormon Church had instilled so much shit in my brain that I wanted to wash out every single piece of it. I mean, was I gay? How would I know if I didn't try it? So, I did. The first experimentation was Neil. So cute, so big, and I guess I should have thought of that before I went there. I'm laughing now thinking about it. We didn't fuck, though I could have if I wanted to. He taught me how to give a killer blowjob though. After Neil there was Aaron, and he was an amazing kisser. His lips always tasted like honey. It was his lip balm, but I loved it, no one had ever tasted sweet like that when I kissed them. My first time having sex with a boy wasn't until I was done experimenting. Between the ages of fourteen and sixteen I tried boys, and I loved them just as much as I loved girls. I decided I was bisexual, but I kept it to myself because my parents would have flipped again, and I didn't want that.  
It was the summer before my senior year, and a few of my friends and I were hanging out on the Vegas strip. It was the coolest place to be seen and at that point I had shed my dorky glasses, my braces, had better hair, cooler clothes, I was fucking hot, or at least I thought so. His name was Adam. I remember how tall he was compared to me. His dark hair and light eyes made him all the more appealing. He carried himself like James Dean, and on the inside I was swooning hard. The night it happened his hands were so careful, exploring my body like he wanted to memorize every single inch of it. He drove me to the edge of insanity and then back again, and when I felt him inside of me I'd never felt more violated yet gratified at the same time. It was intrusive, but intimate, it was my first taste of love. That love cost me my family, everyone but Kara; she's my older sister but still the youngest next to me.   
My cell phone keeps ringing, but I don't want to answer it because it's her ringtone. Usually when she calls it's bad news, and I just want to have fun tonight. I sigh as it rings for a fourth time. Shit, it must really be bad. I roll over on my bed and sit up. Grabbing my phone, I stand up pacing around the room as I answer.   
"Hey," I say my tone soft.  
She tells me she's been worried about me since she hasn't heard from me in a couple of months.  
"I'm fine Kara, really," I assure her, hoping she'll believe me.  
She asks me why I won't talk about it with her, her voice is soft, and I can tell she's on the brink of tears. I don't want her to cry. She tells me she's never judged me for my lifestyle or my choices. She doesn't understand why I shut her out. Fuck, now I feel like a jerk.  
"Kara," I start, "It's hard for me to talk about," I explain, "It's not exactly something I want to remember you know?"  
Her sigh is heavy, but she seems to understand.  
"Look, I promise I'll call you more," I make a set of terms, "I know I've been a shit brother lately and I-"  
She cuts me off telling me to never apologize to her for not calling. She apologizes for the family and tells me she doesn't blame me for not wanting to talk to her.   
"Kara, I love you, all of you," now I'm almost crying, "I never wanted this," and I never did, "but I can't help who I love, and I won't change who-"  
She cuts me off again to tell me she knows that, and she doesn't expect me to change who I am for anyone let alone Mom or Dad. I feel an overwhelming heaviness in my chest that I don't like. God, it's awful.  
"Just..." I trail off, "Just tell everyone that I love them okay?"  
She agrees to that and we hang up. Fuck man, win or lose I'm getting fucked up tonight. I hurry downstairs and into the kitchen where I open the cabinet under the sink and pull out a bottle of Jack and a bottle of Vodka. Well, pick your poison I guess. Sitting the bottles on the counter, I grab the bag of plastic shot cups out of another cabinet. I open it and pull some out, then carry all of it over to the coffee table in the living room. I do a few shots before I hear some more people coming into the living room. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I stand up and greet everyone. I look toward the front door. He better show.  
My friends and I are into an intense game when the doorbell rings. I don't notice it because I'm trying to prove my point, that I always win, and I do. Throwing my hands in the air I laugh hard as my buddy does another shot. When my eyes cross the room I see him. He's standing with his weight on one leg, chewing on his bottom lip. God, he's so hot. Would I be a slut if I wanted to fuck him right here right now? I practically leap off of the couch.  
"Ryyyyyan," I grab his arm and pull him over to the couch forcing him down next to me. I hand him a controller, then I raise my eyebrow at him, "You ready to lose?"  
He laughs, "Are you ready to lose?"  
My face goes straight. I don't expect him to say that. Is he bluffing? There is no way he is better at this than me, no one is. The smirk on his face is challenging me, and I can't help but accept it. No one else plays this round, it's between him and I. My fingers are sweating over the buttons, my tongue flicks in and out of my mouth. He's fucking good at this. He's actually good at it! I might actually lose! No one has ever beaten me, ever. My heart starts to race as I move my ass to the edge of the couch thinking somehow that is going to help me get a one up on him. I see him out of the corner of my eye, and he's calm, cool, and totally collected. What the fuck? How can he be so calm? Then, I hear it. That sound. The sound of me losing. My mouth falls open as I stare at the television screen dumbfounded. I can hear the laughter from all of my friends. My cheeks are beginning to flush, but something else is happening. I'm completely and utterly turned on that this guy, this introverted shy, unknown badass, has just taken away something I owned just like that, like it was his to begin with. I shake off my emotions for the moment.  
"Okay, it's okay," I say holding up my hands, "Fair enough," I pour a shot of Jack and shoot it back. It burns going down my throat as all the others I've done.  
"You know," Ryan speaks up, surprisingly, "I think I'll toast you, you know, for taking losing like a champ," he smiles at me slyly, pours himself a shot of Jack and repeats my motion.  
"So," this can't be how it ends for me, "Again?"   
"If you want to lose twice, sure," he gloats.  
Oh God, I hate him, but fuck I don't. What is happening to me? What is he doing to me? I should still be brooding over Shane, but while he is here, next to me, it's as if Shane never existed. We play the next game, my friends are yelling and making comments behind us, but I'm only focused on winning. Then, there it is again, the sound of losing. He did it twice. Who is this guy? I look at him shocked, and he nods toward the table.  
"Bottoms up Brendon," Oh, the way he said my name. Breeendoon. I could get used to that. I do the shot. Fuck, I'm buzzed.   
"Okay, okay, okay," I babble as I try to stand up, but I stumble backward, and Ryan catches me. I look up at him, "I-I'm fine, really."  
"I can see that," he laughs a little pushing me back up to my feet with the gentlest hands. He doesn't take his hands off of my back or my arm, "How many times did you lose tonight?"  
"Just twice," and I think I hold up three fingers, "To you," I poke his nose with my index finger and laugh. Yep I'm drunk.  
Ryan laughs endearingly, "Yeah okay, I think it's time for bed."  
"But you just got here," I whine.  
"We'll have other times, you can lose then too," Ryan jokes.  
"Hey," Brendon scrunches up his face at the implication.  
Ryan looks up at the crowd of Brendon's friends, "He got a room?"  
Sarah speaks up first, "Yeah, it's up the stairs, down the hall, last door on the right, but I can take him if you-"  
"I got it Sarah, thanks," Ryan wants to take me to my room, how sweet.  
I'm surprised we make it there. My shitty balance doesn't help Ryan at all, but I don't mind because my head is on his shoulder, and he smells so good. When we get into my room he sits me down on the bed and sits next to me. Thankfully, I can sit up on my own.  
"Are you gonna be okay on your own?" Ryan asks searching for my eyes.  
I say nothing because I don't want him to leave. So, I do something I'm not sure he wants, but I know I do. I lean in and kiss him, bumping my lips against his hard as I grab the back of his neck with my hand. He kisses back for a short moment before he stops. He pulls away and puts a finger to my swollen, pulsating lips. My breath almost stops.  
"No, Bren," he whispers, "You're drunk."  
No shit. His finger is still on my lips. He leans in and kisses my jawline, up my cheek, under my earlobe, and I think I might die. He kisses my lobe and breathes hot air into my ear.  
"If you still want to kiss me tomorrow, " he whispers in my ear, "When you're sober," he kisses my lobe again, "I promise I won't disappoint you, but tonight I want you to sleep, can you do that for me?"  
How can I say no to this? I'm putty in his hands. I'm melted chocolate, sticky, melted candy, hot melted wax, I'm falling apart in the best way.   
"Y-y-yes," I stutter as he pulls back and looks at me. His eyes are the color of honey, and they spark with something unknown behind them. He stands me up again with him and pulls back the covers. I get underneath them and lay my head on the pillow as he covers me up.   
"Goodnight Brendon," he whispers as he kisses my temple.  
"Goodnight," my voice sounds like a child’s. I'm losing to him again.  
He begins to walk away and suddenly I feel so cold.  
"Ry," he stops when he gets to the door, then turns to look at me.  
"What is it?" he asks in the sweetest tone.  
"Don't go," my voice is an octave below begging, "I-I don't wanna be alone," and now I am begging, at least inside my head I am.  
"You're not alone, you have the whole house, plus Sarah," he tells me.  
"Yeah," I half heartedly agree, "It's okay," I tell him, "I shouldn't have asked," I laugh, "I mean why would you? You don't even know me."  
He sighs and walks back into the room, standing over my bed with his arms folded, "You're a pain in the ass do you know that?"  
I smile up at him, "Sometimes I guess."  
He studies my face, then something in him changes, "Okay Bren," he gives in, "I will stay, but," he points a finger at me, "We're not kissing."  
"Okay," I smile as he crosses the room and sits in my recliner. The room falls quiet.  
"Ryan?"  
"Go to sleep Brendon," he says with half a laugh.  
"Thank you," I breathe heavily into my pillow.  
"Anytime," he whispers thinking I am asleep, "for you, anytime."


	9. Chapter Nine - Let Me Save You, Hold This Rope

Chapter Nine

When I wake up my foot is propped up against the wall, arms crossed against my chest, and my head lain back against the top of the chair. I have no idea how I slept in that position, but then again, I have no idea how I ended up here, like this, in his bedroom. It takes me a minute to realize that he's not in his bed. I've never been jolted out of sleepiness so quickly as I get up out of the chair and stretch. Walking slowly, I peak my head out into the hallway and look down it. No one seems to be awake so I step out and begin my search. Where the hell could he be this early in the morning? When I pass the bathroom, I hear it. The sound of dry heaving always turns my stomach, but I can't let him just sit in there by himself after he tried so hard to impress me last night. Even if he hadn't tried, I wouldn't let him sit in there alone. So I knock.  
"Brendon?" I ask just to make sure it's him, but I'm positive it is.  
"Go away," he commands through a horse voice.  
I open the door a little, but don't step in all of the way. He's in the stall farthest from the door. I can see his feet sticking out from underneath the door. The bottom of his grey socks slightly black from the bottom of his converse.   
"Are you okay?" But I already know he's not. He's hung-over, big time. My fingers tap idly on the side of the bathroom door, and my body rests in between the door and the door jam.  
"Ryyyan," he whines, "Please," he's begging now, "I don't want you to see me like this," And to be honest, my heart is breaking for the boy. I want to help. He's been going through a hard time. I know this because Spencer informed me before I came over here. I can only imagine what he must be feeling like right now. Making him feel better is my only goal, and I don't even care that he wants me to go away. I'm not leaving.   
The door closes behind me as I step into the bathroom. I turn the latch and lock it so that we're alone, so that he can go through this with at lease some dignity.   
As I approach the stall door, I know getting behind it will be harder. The first thing I try is exactly what I did with the bathroom door, except a bit softer. I knock.  
"Brendon," my voice is as soft as I can make it, "Please let me help."  
More dry heaving is his answer, which prompts me to look around the bathroom for a washcloth. To my surprise they actually have some. The water in the faucet is pretty cold, and it will definitely be good for him, so I soak the cloth thoroughly.  
"I'm coming in there with or without your permission," I tell him with a little laugh so that he knows I'm only trying to help. I'm relieved when I hear the latch turn and watch the door open a little. I wrap my fingers around it and pull it open. Brendon's upper body is wrapped around the toilet, holding on for dear life. His body is quivering, and his breathing is labored. I reach out and touch his head. He flinches and for the life of me I do not understand why. When he turns his head to look at me it's then I understand. I know that look all too well, but I never thought that, I mean God, who would have ever hit Brendon? How could they? He's so perfect. His eyes are red rimmed, face drained of color, and his mouth is hanging open.  
"Please," he begs again, "I'm so sick," a tear drops from his left eye and runs down his cheek. He puts his head back down, hiding his face. I get on my knees next to him but don't sit back on my legs. I want to still be over him.  
"Come on," I sooth as I rub the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his hair. It seems to calm him down as he brings his face out of the toilet. He looks at me as if he can't understand why I would do this for him. I place the cold washrag to his face, and he lets out a sigh of relief.   
"Does that feel good?" I ask him, and he nods slowly.  
Then, his eyes shoot open and I know what's coming as he leans over the toilet again, this time vomit coming up. My palm rests against the cold rag that is still over his forehead, while my other hand pushes his hair away from his face.  
I don't know how long I sit in there with him but eventually he collapses into my arms. It's then that I know it's his way of saying he's grateful I didn't leave him alone. He cleans up as best he can before we go back to his room and he plops down on his bed.   
"Oh no, no, no," I shake my finger at him, "You need to eat and drink something, you know, other than alcohol," I laugh a little.  
He groans, "Ryan, no, I just want to lay here."  
"Brendon," my voice is stern but not mean, "You can get up yourself or I can make you get up."  
He looks up at me. I have half a smile on my face. He lets out a sigh and rolls out of his bed.  
"Fine, but it better be damn good food and coffee," Brendon points at me.  
I laugh at him, and then turn around while he gets dressed.  
We only walk a couple of blocks to a diner. He needs something in his body now that he's thrown it all up. He sits across from me running his thumb up and down his white coffee mug. The light from the window is bright, and it shines into his eyes making the brown much more prominent. His features seem sharper, and his hair...okay Ryan shut up. You sound like a fucking schoolgirl.   
"Thank you," he says out of nowhere. His eyes connecting with mine over the rim of his coffee cup that is, in this moment colliding with his lips, and I almost forget to answer him.  
"For what?"  
"For everything," he admits shrugging, "No one's ever been this nice to me."  
What? How is that possible? Am I missing something? He's amazing; he deserves this, how could he have never gotten it?  
"Well, you deserve it Bren," and I mean it more than anything I've ever said before, "So, you're welcome."  
He's blushing. Actually fucking blushing. It's so hot. It's taking everything in me not to bend him over this table right now and -  
"You're something else Ry," he tells me as he puts his hand on top of mine pulling me out of my lustful thoughts. He's not pulling away, his thumb is rubbing the side of my hand, and he's smiling at me. Oh god, his hands are like, oh god, think about something else anything else. Do not pitch a fucking tent in your pants here.  
"So are you," I flirt. Shit, I'm flirting. Stop Ryan. Control yourself. You don't even know him. But fuck, I've seen him naked. Very, very, naked. I wondered then, and I still wonder what his cock would look like hard. Cause it's pretty impressive when it's not so I mean...God Ryan, shut the fuck up!  
"I'm sorry," He apologizes then laughs looking into his coffee cup and moving his hand. No, wait. Why did he move it?  
"I'm terrible at this."  
"At what?" I'm sorry did I miss something? What is he talking about?  
"Oh," he looks up at me, "I thought-Well, I mean last night and-never mind." his head goes back down into his coffee cup.  
I know I have to do something fast because this conversation is going downhill, and now that I know where he was kind of going with what he was saying I think I can finish this.   
"Brendon?" his head flies up, eyes immediately connecting with mine when he feels my hand on his.  
"Yes?"  
"How would you feel about maybe going out with me?"  
"Like a date?" He asks biting his bottom lip.  
"Yes, exactly like that," And, honestly I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm never this forward.  
Brendon's face flushes, and he grabs onto my hand tighter, then his smile turns into a biggest grin I've ever seen.  
"I would love that Ry," and even through the grin he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it for comfort.  
"So would I," My eyes must flash some of my desires because Brendon's eyes flash right back and I can feel it shoot through my body and straight between my legs. Yup, there it is. A fucking hard on in public.


	10. Chapter Ten - Give Me One Last Kiss While We're Far Too Young To Die

Chapter Ten  
(Brendon's POV)

A date. I haven't been on a date since before Shane and even then I'm not sure how many of them qualified as dates as much as they did fucking sessions. Shane was the first real boyfriend I'd ever had, not that it had been the best experience. Don't get me wrong, some things were great, but Shane was bossy, possessive, and jealous. If he didn't get his way he was down right insufferable, but I took it all because I loved him, and I thought he loved me. I shake my head, because I don't want to think about him anymore. I definitely don't want his memory ruining my night.  
Currently, I am in a crisis situation. My entire closet is dumped onto my bed, my face is flushed, and I'm about to have a panic attack. No one had ever treated me the way Ryan had, and I didn't want to mess it up. Believe me, if I ran my mouth long enough I probably could. Sarah stood in my doorway, arms folded with a smirk on her face, leaning against the door jam. I guess she finds my little freak out funny. I glare at her then go back to rummaging through the clothing on my bed.  
"Brendon," Sarah says from right behind me.  
I turn to her, and she grabs my face in her hands forcing me to look her in the eyes.  
"Take a deep breath," she tells me, so I do, "Let it out," she continues, "You are going to be fine," she reminds me, "This Ryan guy, he likes you," she says, "I can tell."  
My eyes get wide. My smile follows, "Really?"  
She nods, "Yes, now come on," she lets go of my face and turns her attention to the heaping pile of clothing on my bed, "Let's get you dressed for this date."  
Honestly, I don't know how she does it because after fifteen minutes she has me dressed in an outfit that is simple but even I can't deny is hot. A pair of dark denim jeans that hang low on my hips and cling to my body like cellophane, a black V-neck tee shirt that hugs my torso and chest, and at this point the black belt that I put on is merely aesthetic, plus it looks hot. I sit on the edge of my bed and pull on my converse as she begins to put my clothing back into my closet.   
"Where's he taking you?"   
I shrug and stand up giving myself a once over in my closet mirror, "Dinner," I say fussing with my hair. She pokes me in the side.  
"Ow," I hold my side and turn to look at her, "What was that for?"   
"You look great, now stop over thinking it," she tells me closing the closet door, the wind from the swing blows at the bangs on my forehead.  
"Okay, fuck man," I laugh holding my hands up.  
My jacket sits on the recliner. Sarah is pacing behind me. I can see her out of the corner of my eye. When I lean over to scoop up my jacket she lets out a sigh. Worry fills my body as I slip on my black pea coat, then turn around to face whatever it is that's going on with her.  
"What's wrong?" I ask rubbing her shoulder.  
She waves her hand at me, "S'nothing Bren don't worry about it, go have fun."  
But, I know better. It's not nothing.  
"Sarah, we've been friends since freshman year," I remind her, "This," I point to her pacing, "Is not nothing."  
"Look, I don't want to ruin your night. We'll talk later okay?" She smiles at me, then grabs my red and black checked scarf from the door handle and throws it around my neck. My hand catches hers while she is tying and tucking the scarf into my jacket.  
"Please talk to me," my pleading is gentle, "Did I do something?"   
Her eyes shoot up to meet mine, scolding me silently at first, "No, Brendon why would you even think that? Fuck," she seemed pissed off that I asked.   
I shrug.  
"You gotta stop doing that," she tells me, "I'm not Shane," she reminds me, "I don't blame my life on you."  
"I'm sorry," I bite my lip and look down at my shoes.  
"No, god, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" she hugs me before finishing her thought. When she pulls away she's petting the back of my head, "Go and have a good time, I promise it's not something that can't wait until you're done having fun," her smile is enough to make me drop it.   
"Okay," I agree, "But I will be here to listen whenever you're ready."  
"I know that," she smiles again, and god I love her smile, "I love that about you Brendon," she kisses me on the cheek, "You're so selfless sometimes."  
"Sometimes?" I quirk an eyebrow at her, the corner of my mouth curling into a smile.  
"Yes, sometimes," she grins, "Now get the hell out of here," she smacks my ass. It makes a loud cracking noise, and I actually quite enjoy it, but it's Sarah so it's nothing more than a friendly 'get the fuck out of my face'. I think I enjoy any attention I get, from anyone who gives it really. I curse my parents for this, and I fucking hate how they've made me feel, and Shane too. I really hope Ryan is different.  
It's cold outside tonight. My breath comes out of my mouth like smoke, and of course, I try to manipulate it into rings because that's just how I am. When I finally look up from my fun I see Ryan standing in front of me with a smile on his face, and god he looks good. His hair all brown, soft curls, and I want to run my hands through it. His Adams apple is like a beacon begging for my lips to close over it and suck. I feel a hand on my shoulder.  
"You okay Brendon?" He asks me trying to catch my eyes.  
I swallow hard, "Yeah, yeah I'm fine," I look at him and smile, "So," I say, "Where are you taking me?" I wiggle my eyebrows trying to lighten the mood.  
He laughs, and I've done my job.  
"You'll see," he nods his head in the opposite direction of where we are standing, "The car is waiting," he tells me.  
"Car?"  
"Yeah, come on," he holds his hand out. I look down at it for a minute before he shakes it at me. He wants me to hold his hand, and in my eagerness I think I squeeze too hard when I finally grab onto him because he winks at me. We walk a block and then I see a black Lexus sitting next to the curb, smoke coming out the exhaust. The car has been running, waiting for us. How is it that Ryan Ross can afford to get us a car? I don't ask myself any more questions. I just get into the car after him. We don't leave the city, but we head in the direction of Brooklyn and end up on North 6th street. The car stops in front of a restaurant I've never heard of before, but it looks nice. Zenkichi. It sounds Japanese, and once we walk inside I realize it is. He still has a hold of my hand. He never let it go.   
"I hope you like Sushi," he turns to me unsure of my answer.  
I nod, "I love it."  
When they sit us down I'm in awe. This place is romantic. The booths are this dark mahogany and a bamboo blind comes down to cover it with privacy and stops just at the table. Holy shit, this is crazy. We're alone, in private, eating sushi. Does he even know what sushi does to me? The menu is filled with food that makes my stomach growl, but I notice the prices too. How can he afford this? He's just a college student like me. He doesn't have to impress me like this. I like him regardless of all of this. It wouldn't matter if we were on a park bench with a doughnut and coffee.   
"Ryan?" my voice is unsure.  
He puts down his menu and looks at me, "Yes?"  
"H-how-I mean is this-Can you?"   
He laughs a little, "Brendon, don't worry about it, I've got this," he tells me.  
"Yeah but how?" then I realize I'm being fucking nosy, "Shit, god I'm sorry I shouldn't be so nosy. My mouth, you know, it's, it just can keep going and going."  
"Not always a bad thing," he smirks.  
Shit. He's flirting with me, like hard-core flirting. I wonder if he's planning on fucking me? Cause I wouldn't mind, in fact I think I would love to. We order our food, and he orders some Sake' as well. This time though, I know my limit. I won't let myself get as drunk as I did last week.   
"Do you mind if I sit next to you?" He asks me.   
Whoa, I was not expecting that. I nod because I would never find words to answer him, not when his voice is so low and so sexy. He slides out of his seat and into mine, our thighs touching. That goes straight to my cock, seriously, straight to it. I can feel it in my jeans and now I'm regretting going commando. He lifts his arm and as it comes back down I can't help but think of Shane and all of the times he's-out of habit I flinch and hide my face. I feel Ryan's arm around my shoulder pulling me closer to him. His mouth is next to my ear.  
"Hey," he says softly, "It's okay," he kisses my ear, "I'm not going to hit you."  
Wait, how? I lift my head up and shift my body toward him.  
"How did you?" my face is contorted I know it is.  
He sighs and lets his fingers tangle in the hair at the back of my neck. I shiver and resist the urge to close my eyes.  
"Brendon, I know all too well the signs of someone who's been smacked around," he admits.  
We're both quiet while I look into my lap biting my lip. His hand is still in my hair. It feels good. I don't remember the last time someone just-  
"Was it Shane?" He asks surprising me.  
My eyes shoot up locking with his, "Yeah," my voice is just a breath.  
He pulls me to him and puts my head on his shoulder placing a kiss into my hair.  
"You never have to worry about that again, okay?" he assures me.  
I nod against him and clutch his shirt not ever wanting to let go of him. Where the hell did he come from? Why did he want to treat me so well?  
During the meal we laugh and smile and genuinely have a good time with each other. The topic of family comes up at the end when we're both feeling the burn of the Sake'. He tells me about his father, about the money, about the abuse, the lack of love. My heart aches for him because before my family found out about me there was never a lack of love. I always knew what that felt like, which is why it hurt so much when it was gone. I know he's going to ask about my family now, and I don't know if I'm ready to answer, but he's shared so much I can't not.  
"What about you Brendon? Where's your family?"  
And there it was, right in front of my face, dangling like a transparent carrot.  
"Um," I begin, "Well," I'm not sure if I can do this. He can tell I'm uncomfortable. I feel his hand on my thigh.  
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."  
Then, I relax because how great can one person be?  
"No," I tell him, "I want to tell you," a sigh leaves my body, "I grew up in Vegas. My family is Mormon, and I was too until I was 13. Then, I decided I didn't believe all of the shit they were throwing at me," I explain, "My parents weren't keen on that, but they tried to accept it. The one thing they couldn't accept though was my sexuality, when they found out about that they practically, well, no, they did. They disowned me. All except for my sister Kara."  
"God Bren, I'm sorry," he squeezes my thigh, "What about school?" He asks, "Do you need help paying for it? Because if you do I can-"  
I smile and let out a little laugh, "No Ryan, I have a full scholarship, but thank you that means a lot to me."  
Ryan sighs, "You wanna get out of here?"  
"I thought you'd never ask."  
We get back to the dorms and I guess maybe I read him wrong because he turns down my offer to come in. I knew I shouldn't have told him all that shit now he's not interested. Then, I feel him take my hands out of my pockets and intertwine our fingers.  
"I want to see you again," he smiles. Well, I wasn't expecting that.  
"I-I- have a thing coming up," I stutter over my words.  
"A thing?" Ryan raises an eyebrow.  
"A concert, just me and a piano," I clarify.  
"Oh," he smiles, "Well, I'd love to see that."  
"Okay," I bite my lip, "It's in two days."  
"Lemme see your phone," he doesn't wait for an answer before his hand is in my front jean pocket fishing out my phone. I watch him curiously.  
"There," he puts the phone back in my pocket, but he doesn't back away from me this time. He's standing so close. I can feel his warm breath on my face.  
"Now, you can call me," his hands are trailing up my back, and it's cold outside but suddenly I am very warm.  
"Yeah?" I ask my voice shaky.  
He nods as his hands stop at the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair again. He's looking at my lips like they're his next meal; fuck he's going to kiss me. One hand stays in my hair the other comes around to cup my cheek. My hands drop to hips, fingers hooking through his belt loops pulling him against my body. He moans. He fucking moans. I can't take it anymore.  
"Fucking kiss me already Ross," I beg.  
He laughs as his lips graze my jawline, "So," more kisses, "Impatient."  
Then, his lips press against mine. They are soft and wet, and the kiss soon turns hungry. He sucks on my bottom lip, biting it, playing with it, his tongue dances around in my mouth, circling my own then sucking on it like it was my cock, and I know he's just showing me he can suck a cock. Fucking tease. I moan into his mouth as my fingers wrap around his belt loops tighter.   
"Fuck, your mouth," he breathes against my lips as his fingers run over them. They are red and swollen.  
"Could say the same about you Ross," I breathe, "You sure you don't wanna come in?"  
"Oh no, Brendon, I want to come in," he kisses me again, "But, I don't want to rush this. This is good, I can feel it."  
I sigh. I'm frustrated, but I understand what he means. He leans in and whispers into my ear.  
"You have no idea how much I want to touch your cock right now."  
I push against him, "Then touch it."  
He laughs a little, "Right here?" He looks around.  
"You're not taking it out," I laugh, "If that's what you want then do it, God knows you've done a lot for me tonight."  
His lips crash back into mine, the kiss is sloppy and wanton. His hand slides down the front of my jacket, to my waist, over my belt buckle. I gasp when his hand closes over my hard on.  
"Fuck Brendon," his moan is fucking straight sin, "You're making this so hard for me."  
I laugh, "Ry," I breathe, "I uh, think it's the other way around."  
He laughs and lets go of the hard on straining against my jeans.   
"God, I like you Brendon, I like you so much."  
The admission surprises me but makes me feel something I haven't in a long time. Wanted.  
"I like you too Ryan," I cup his face in my hands and kiss him, my thumbs brushing against his cheeks. I can feel him flush under my touch and there are so many feelings bursting inside me that I can't take it.  
"I'll see you in two days," I breathe when we come up for air.  
"Two days," he repeats, "You better use my number," he warns playfully.  
"I will, I promise."  
He gives me one last kiss before he's back into the car and I watch the red taillights disappear down the street, into the night. This one is different. This one is worth waiting for, however long the wait might be.


End file.
